


No Prescription

by orphan_account



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Coda, Flashback, M/M, Molestation, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 11:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12530692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Flashback coda to 'I Know Why The Caged Bird Kills'."If you're supposed to be our mom, than why you got us tied up, huh? People only do that when they wanna kill us-""-or hold us for ransom-""-or touch us. Inappropriately.""Whaat?When? That never happened.""Sergeant Hatred?What, didja blot that out?Oh no, wait. You were passed out from the wine. Most of it was awful, trust me."





	No Prescription

It wasn’t until he got up and locked the door that Hank started to worry. Dean was already passed out across the loveseat. Uncle Happy, who Hank had been not-really-listening to, while sipping at the wine, came back quick though.

He’d been so nice, Hank had wondered why he’d never been invited to any of their other birthdays. Dean had eaten cake, and Hank had opened presents. Uncle Happy had told them he was covering for Brock, and Hank had been so busy goofing off, he’d barely noticed Dad was missing.

How often had Dad made it to one of their birthdays, anyway? Like, _never_.

“You feeling a little warm?” Uncle Happy asked, and Hank shivered, even though he was getting sort of hot. He nodded. It made his Uncle laugh, and clap him on the back, like Brock had that one time he’d tripped a henchman with his Lincoln Log set, and Hank relaxed all over again.

“Uh, yeah.” Hank replied, and set his cup down on the table, but the sudden motion shook him, and the sharp crash was his glass hitting the floor.

“Careful, Hank.” Uncle Happy didn’t sound worried at all. He was looking at Dean spread across the loveseat, all asleep and stupid, his mouth open. He was looking at Dean, who was only wearing his undershirt, all twisted up to show his belly.

  
Hank sorta wished he hadn’t drunk so much.

  
“Have you heard from my Dad?” Hank asked, but it came out like he was swallowing marbles, and Uncle Happy laughed again, which made Hank smile, laugh.

And then Uncle Happy stopped laughing, and so did Hank. He swallowed, his mouth strange on his face, his limbs strange on his body. Uncle Happy was smiling at _him_ now, that same weirdo smile, and maybe. Maybe there was a reason Uncle Happy wasn’t at any of their birthdays.

“Your dad’s gonna be here soon enough.” Uncle Happy said, and then he smiled, real big and Hank tried to stand. He had to get Dean, they had to leave, _Dean hadn’t even gotten to play with his new Justice Frog_. Instead, Uncle Happy reached out and poked him in the chest, lightly with one finger. “He’s just a lil’ busy. Tied up.”

Hank went back on his butt like a Kleenex, and he felt stupid. All that time Brock had spent showing him how to block a strike and he hadn’t even lifted a hand. He glared up at Uncle Happy.

_If that was even his real name!_

“Who are you?” Hank shouted, and Uncle Happy wasn’t so much smiling at him anymore as _grinning_ , breathing heavily, even though he was sitting still.

Hank was the one struggling to even move his legs.

“Maybe you outta be a little tied up, too, Hank-a-roo.” He said, and Hank wanted to run, but his arms and legs felt like noodles. He felt his head loll back on his neck, staring uselessly upward. He wondered where Brock was right now, but couldn’t decide if he wanted to be saved or not.

He wanted to save himself.

“Drug’s kickin’ in.” Happy said, quietly but still too excited. And then all at once, Hank was being shuffled like a doll, making his arms jerk and pull. He tried to tell him to stop, but it came out all dumb. His hands lifted over his head, his legs bound to each other. He wiggled how he could, but even if he’d been tied with shoestring, he felt so _weird_ , he probably couldn’t do anything.

The restraints felt solid though, and tighter than the Baron had _ever_ tied them. Hank felt really dumb for not realizing it was _just_ a kidnapping earlier, but this ‘Uncle’ character was being so _creepy_. Still, even though the ropes were softer than he was used to and more flexible, no matter how he twisted Hank couldn’t see more than the den’s stained ceiling.

He heard rustling, and a soft whump from where Dean lay, passed out on the loveseat.

A wet sound.

“ ‘ey.” Hank muttered, the words feeling like they were dribbling out of his mouth. “ Hey. Stop.”

Frighteningly, the noises stopped immediately.

Hank felt his body shifting and tilting, sliding him lower along the leather couch, his chin hitting his chest hard enough that his teeth clicked. He opened his eyes, and he could see Dean now, his shirt pulled up to his pits and his nipples looked... wet. _Ugh_. What was _wrong_ with this guy? He wondered if Dad could lodge a complaint.

Hank just hoped it was _spit_.

“You’re such a fighter, Hank.” Uncle Happy said, and the swell of pride Hank felt made him feel bad. Weird. Nobody had told him anything like that before.“I was a fighter Hank. You’re right. Let’s leave the lesser toys behind.”

Hank tried again to free himself, dread settling cold in the pit of his stomach, despite the fog of alcohol and whatever had been in it. It was like he’d been having a dream, and now, it was going to be a nightmare.

Uncle Happy took off his military overcoat, and Hank could finally see what was spelled down his body.

H  
A  
T  
R  
E-

“The d’s over the D!” Sgt. Hatred said, and then he laughed, his body shaking with the force of his good humor. “If we have enough time, I’ll teach you how to spell, Hank.”

He winked, and Hank kind of hated Dean for being asleep. Dean missed everything. He missed the time Brock had snapped that guys neck on Christmas, too busy having a nosebleed. He missed Hank’s bike tricks all the time. He was _always_ asleep and just this once, Hank wished it was _him_  knocked out by the G-force as Brock navigated the X-Wing into a guided crash.

Instead, Hank remembered Brock’s voice, through the fog.

_’Always try and be alert if you get taken hostage, boys. You never know when there'll be an opportunity for contact or escape. And Hank, protect your brother.’_

And just like that, it was easier to keep his eyes open as Hatred’s fat hands, shaky and kinda wet, unknotted his kerchief, leaving it to crumple behind his neck. Then his shirt, lifted over his head, left around his arms, and now he was trapped more severely than before. He could barely see Sgt. Hatred through the light of the den’s single window, or maybe his eyes just kept slipping closed.

Or maybe, and Hank’s heart swelled, maybe it was getting later _and Brock would be home soon._

Hank squeezed his eyes shut, breaking his promise to Brock and himself and _Batman_ , as Hatred lowered his head to his chest, a hot tongue squirming across his chest. It was gross, and awful and how could he feel so heavy, and still feel _so much_? He hated it, _he hated it_ , and Hank was suddenly sure he was going to cry, and _jeez_ , not even Dean cried when they got kidnapped anymore.

But Dean was _asleep_. If Hank turned his head, if he could even turn his head- while Hatred drooled all over his chest, licking at his nipples like he was a _girl_ \- he could see him, rolled onto his side, curled up asleep.

Hands fumbled at his waistband, and real fear gripped Dean. He didn’t know a lot about _stuff_ , but what he did know told him that he didn’t wanna do that.

“Stop.” He mumbled, and then louder, when he realized his tongue was working. “Stop. Stop it.”

A single hand reached up, cuffing him across the face. His face felt numb afterwards. It happened so quickly, he felt shocked, and didn’t protest when the hand retreated back down to the front of his shorts.

He’d never been hit like that before.

“Stop.” He said again, but softly. Afraid to be heard. He hoped Brock _never_ came home, never found him like this, shorts around his thighs and Sgt. Hatred sucking on his wiener like it was... well, _a wiener_. Sgt. Hatred didn’t say anything, just kept slurping on him, his gross mouth attached to him like a leech. It was warm and weird. It made him want to squirm, but Sgt. Hatred’s big hands sat on his hips like a warning, and it was far enough away now, that Hank had to keep reminding himself to struggle. Sure it was gross, but Dean was safe, and Brock would be here soon, and he could probably sleep like this-

And then he started to feel weirder. Hot again, like he had when he first drank, sweaty but under his skin. It radiated from the root of him, where Uncle Happy was still licking him. And that made him wriggle, just to get the sweat off the back of his knees. It rocked his hips upward, and his whole body thrummed, making him gasp.

Sgt. Hatred pulled back to laugh, and it was like loud noise in a scary movie. His whole body jumped.

“Yeah, I knew you were a fighter, Hank.” He told him, and Hank felt like he would always be here, looking at his sad, wet, weird face. Terrified it had been him that had invited this horrible day, this horrible day to end all days. “You and me-”

“HATRED.”

_Brock!_

He tried to keep his eyes on the fight, but he was still trussed up, still woozy. Brock smashed a chair across the guys face, that was good. Hank was mostly just glad that even if his pants were down, at least he wasn’t all weird and thick anymore. He drifted for a moment, safe in the sound of Brock’s fists meeting solid human flesh. And then Brock was pulling his pants up, and untying him, quick, but not like he was worried.

Like he was upset, and Hank suddenly remembered that he had broken his promise. He didn’t stay alert. He didn’t escape.

“You alright?” Brock asked him, and he was looking at Hank with a funny kind of look in his eye, like he was afraid of what Hank was gonna tell him. Like he didn’t want to ask the question. Well, good. Hank didn’t want it asked.

He wanted a shower.

“I’m fine.” He said, and then because, it was sorta true, and it was his birthday, and _Dean wouldn’t remember anyway_. “I protected Dean.”

Brock looked profoundly grateful, and then he looked away, letting Hank sit up and fumble at sorting himself out. He could still see Sgt. Hatred slumped in the corner, but it was okay.

Kidnapping over.

:

Two weeks before the trial, when the boys died in that motorcade accident, Brock wasn’t as sorry as he should be. They cloned them of course, like they always did. Same dumb kids, freshly minted.

The new Hank slept easier every night. Maybe, Brock still didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry everyone. I take [requests](http://honeyedlion.tumblr.com/).


End file.
